


that's love, is it not?

by dandelionslute



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Implied Noncon, Implied dubcon, M/M, gentle!geralt, hurt!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionslute/pseuds/dandelionslute
Summary: "Why do you let them do this to you?"Jaskier looks confused and cocks his head a little."Why let them hurt you if they claim to harbour love for you?"Jaskier smiles. "I let them do what makes them happy. Is that not love?"Geralt frowns. "No, Jaskier. No."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 875





	that's love, is it not?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a tumblr prompt!

He's no stranger to love.

Giving it, that is.

Everywhere he goes, he falls in love.

He falls in love with the girl at the market who gives him a smile as they bump arms in the crowd. He falls in love with the man at the bar that buys him a drink and puts his hand on his arm. He falls in love with women; tall, short, big, small, blonde hair brown hair red hair. He falls in love with men; strong, weak, sharp, soft, blonde hair brown hair red hair.

He sees the beauty on the outside even if it's not there within. He'll still love them if they're a little too rough, a little too fierce, a little too demanding or possessive or aggressive. Because that's what love is, isn't it? To be wrapped up in being wrapped up, and love people despite their faults and flaws?

It's the only type of love he's known, he knows.

Is it meant to hurt?

He hears songs of it hurting, but it's always about feelings and not so much about flesh.

But he sees the bruises as wax seals that seal love letters under his skin.

-

Geralt sees it differently.

At first, he wonders if maybe Jaskier just likes it rough. A lot of people do. And Jaskier was passionate and energetic and thrill seeking in every other aspect of his life, why not this? Maybe he enjoyed a few bites and slaps here and there. Geralt was certainly not one to judge.

But he notices Jaskier's mood dip - the once sunny, singing bard turning sour. He frowns more than he smiles and he hides away most of the time. Geralt thinks a few bruises on his neck is no harm, even fairly normal for Jaskier, but he catches Jaskier in the bath one evening and he sees the true extent of them. Broken skin in cuts and scratches all along his shoulders, chest and back. Bruises thrice the size of the ones on his neck paint a lewd picture across his body.

His songs about love and flowers and feelings turn cold, and he sings of pain in his heart, his head, his hips.

-

"Why do you let them do this to you?"

Jaskier looks confused and cocks his head a little.

"Why let them hurt you if they claim to harbour love for you?"

Jaskier smiles. "I let them do what makes them happy. Is that not love?"

Geralt frowns. "No, Jaskier. No."

\- 

He leaves it. He wonders, perhaps, if the bruises will disappear and not be replaced.

It's a hopeless hope when Jaskier keeps holding out his heart just for it to be be hacked into pieces. Along with the rest of him.

-

"Let me help," Geralt says and Jaskier twists his arm over his shoulder, trying to rub salve on the scratches on his back.

"I've got it," Jaskier replies, fingers stretching as far as they can to reach those difficult places.

Geralt grabs the cream from his hand. "Stop," he says, and Jaskier does, and it concerns him how he does it with such obedience.

Geralt dips two finger in the jar and rubs a soft line of salve down the red marks on Jaskier's skin. Jaskier winces but stays still.

"Why, _why_ ," Geralt mutters to himself as he goes.

"They love me, longer," Jaskier say quietly and turns his head to the side, and Geralt can see the cut on his cheek. "If I let them, they love me."

"That's not love, Jaskier," Geralt says and turns him gently by the shoulders.

"And what do you know of love?" Jaskier whispers, sad eyes looking into Geralt's but not really seeing him.

"I know enough to know it's not this," he says a little louder and pushes his finger into a bruise. Jaskier recoils and glares at Geralt.

"Oh you know nothing," he says, a tear in his eye.

Geralt means to speak, say something, anything, but as usual his words fail him and he finds himself painfully silent. He decides to lean in and kiss Jaskier, instead.

-

Jaskier moves with him, lips against lips. He tries to speed them up, because that's what he's used to, but Geralt doesn't let him. They kiss gentle, soft and slow until Geralt moves back and takes Jaskier's head in his hands.

"Let me," Geralt whispers, and his thumb traces across Jaskier's lip.

And Jaskier, sweet Jaskier, just nods. He's used to letting people do things.

Geralt guides him to the bed and sits him down, falling to his knees. With a little shimmy from Jaskier, he pulls the bard's trousers down his legs and drops them in a pile to the side. He runs his hands up the back of Jaskier's calves and they tuck in behind his knee. He places a kiss to each kneecap and slowly parts his legs a little, kissing the soft skin of his inner thighs.

He sees all the bruises there, all pink and red and blue and purple, and frowns. When he looks up to Jaskier, Jaskier's looking back. Sad smile playing on his lips, a gently shrug of his shoulders. Acceptance, defeat. Geralt wants to burn every single person who's ever hurt Jaskier alive.

He moves in a little closer and presses kisses up the length of Jaskier's thigh until he finds his cock, and kisses there too. He licks, devilishly slow, from the base up to the head, and Jaskier's hips jerk. Geralt steadies his thighs with his hands. "Ssh," he murmurs, and swallows Jaskier's cock into his mouth, kissing and licking and twisting his tongue. Jaskier makes a little sound and puts his hands to Geralt's hair, but he's gentle, so gentle. Of course he would be. Lovely little bard with soft hands and kind eyes, absolutely destroyed by the harsh edges of another.

Geralt pushes the thought from his head and focuses on Jaskier instead. He pulls his mouth from his cock with a pop and it falls heavy and wet against Jaskier's belly. Geralt presses kisses into his skin from his hip, slowly further up, pushing Jaskier back on the bed and crawling up on his knees between the bard's legs.

Jaskier's hands instantly land above his own head. Geralt swallows. 

When he kisses Jaskier's ribs and tries to lick away the marks there, Jaskier's breath catches in his throat and he lets out a sigh. Geralt wonders how long it had been since he'd had a mouth do anything to his skin but bite it.

Geralt shows him what love is.

He touches and soothes and rubs and kisses and licks and tickles his fingers all along Jaskier's body. He doesn't bite, and he doesn't bruise.

When he climbs on the bed above Jaskier and kisses him again, their lips moving together and tongues finding each other's, Jaskier sobs just once. Geralt swallows it, and tastes the relief that comes with it.

"Is this okay?" Geralt says, barely there, mouth against Jaskier's throat.

"You can be rougher."

"I don't want to."

And so Geralt holds Jaskier in his arms and eventually, when he works up to the point of sliding himself into the bard, Jaskier keens and his back arches and he tries to thrust himself down. Like he doesn't know how to do this without urgency, without harshness, without feeling like an instrument in someone else's band.

"Stop," Geralt says, and holds Jaskier's hips down. And he fucks him, and loves him, and treats him to gentle touching and kissing as he does. And afterwards, when they've both come and Jaskier has tears on his cheek and his face buried in Geralt's neck, he asks -

"Is this love?"

And Geralt replies, "Yes, Jaskier. Yes."


End file.
